What if superheroes did exist? No, not faster-than-a-speeding-bullet superheroes but regular, yet exemplary, people who feel they need to protect our world from itself. What if you were one of those people? Awesome right…maybe not. It all started with the civil rights movement. When certain people saw the brutality of police, and the way they were ignoring the cries for help from people who were only trying to be free, they decided to follow in the footsteps of their comic-book superheroes and take things into their own hands. They had to wear costumes because, at the time, what they were doing was completely illegal and most of these people had jobs and families to protect. It started with one, then two, then four and five, until eventually there were more of them than police. In 1968 after the death of Martin Luther King Jr. a group of these people banded together to continue the fight. They called themselves The Guard and did everything they could to keep peace without violence, but they would turn to it if they needed to and everyone knew it. They fought for years, doing what the police couldn’t. Those in the Guard were respected, often honored, for what they did, and eventually all of the ‘supers’ either belonged tothe Guard or hung up their masks and left it to them. My father was one of them; he was there from day one until the day he died. Unfortunately though, whenever there is good in the world there is also evil and it’s not always in the form you think it’d to take. There were no “supervillians”, but being ‘super’ took its toll on the minds of the men and women who donned the masks to protect those they loved. Not only do you have to keep your identity secret, mostly to protect those around you from revenge of crazed criminals and their partners, but you also have to live with everything you do, or don’t. Every time you watch the news and hear of a seven-year-old boy who got shot in a drive-by, or a 26-year-old woman who was raped and beaten in a back alley or the 17 people who died in the apartment fire, you have to wonder, “Why wasn’t someone there? Why wasn’t I there?“That coupled with the guilt that, even though they were vile and disgusting people, you were hurting and occasionally (though unintentionally) killing those you fought. It was enough to drive most of the ‘supers’ mad, and it very often did. Of the original Guard only two are left alive and out of mental rehabilitation, my father is not one of these two. He killed himself when I was 17 in what had been called an “alcohol related vehicular accident”. What the public doesn’t know is that my father was the one who was drunk. By then though, he had already trained me to follow after him and I was too naïve to realize that his ‘super’ status is what led to his death. There were always young men and women waiting to replace the ones who die and it looked as if our world would not be without supers for some time. It was 14 years ago that my father died and I took his place. I hate to say that I would have made my dad proud. I now lead the Guard, a job I wouldn’t wish on even my worst enemy. I see so many young kids, not unlike how I was at their age, join us and you can’t do anything but watch as what they’re doing hardens them, leaves them so isolated that they retreat. The smart ones leave early. I can’t tell you how often I have wanted-and tried-to do this, but after a week of watching the news and listening to police scanners and hearing of all the horrors happening in this city I always end up back where I started, fighting to protect. Most of us end up in either a state of with perpetual anger and depression or just devoid of all emotion. Most abandon everything they love and ever cared for, sometimes in fear, more often because they are ashamed to be the way they are and don’t want anyone to see. In 1992 president Clinton passed an act banning all “superhero” activity. It was probably the only thing that saved me from following in my father’s footsteps to the end. Some of the Guard were angry, but for most, the day that act was passed was the best day of their lives.
It all started with the civil rights movement. When certain people saw the brutality of police, and the way they were ignoring the cries for help from people who were only trying to be free, they decided to follow in the footsteps of their comic-book superheroes and take things into their own hands. They had to wear costumes because, at the time, what they were doing was completely illegal and most of these people had jobs and families to protect. It started with one, then two, then four and five, until eventually there were more of them than police. In 1968 after the death of Martin Luther King Jr. a group of these people banded together to continue the fight. They called themselves The Guard and did everything they could to keep peace without violence, but they would turn to it if they needed to and everyone knew it. They fought for years, doing what the police couldn’t. Those in the Guard were respected, often honored, for what they did, and eventually all of the ‘supers’ either belonged to the Guard or hung up their masks and left it to them. My father was one of them; he was there from day one until the day he died.
Unfortunately though, whenever there is good in the world there is also evil and it’s not always in the form you think it’d to take. There were no “supervillians”, but being ‘super’ took its toll on the minds of the men and women who donned the masks to protect those they loved. Not only do you have to keep your identity secret, mostly to protect those around you from revenge of crazed criminals and their partners, but you also have to live with everything you do, or don’t. Every time you watch the news and hear of a seven-year-old boy who got shot in a drive-by, or a 26-year-old woman who was raped and beaten in a back alley or the 17 people who died in the apartment fire, you have to wonder, “Why wasn’t someone there? Why wasn’t I there?“ That coupled with the guilt that, even though they were vile and disgusting people, you were hurting and occasionally (though unintentionally) killing those you fought. It was enough to drive most of the ‘supers’ mad, and it very often did.
Of the original Guard only two are left alive and out of mental rehabilitation, my father is not one of these two. He killed himself when I was 17 in what had been called an “alcohol related vehicular accident”. What the public doesn’t know is that my father was the one who was drunk. By then though, he had already trained me to follow after him and I was too naïve to realize that his ‘super’ status is what led to his death. There were always young men and women waiting to replace the ones who die and it looked as if our world would not be without supers for some time.
It was 14 years ago that my father died and I took his place. I hate to say that I would have made my dad proud. I now lead the Guard, a job I wouldn’t wish on even my worst enemy. I see so many young kids, not unlike how I was at their age, join us and you can’t do anything but watch as what they’re doing hardens them, leaves them so isolated that they retreat. The smart ones leave early. I can’t tell you how often I have wanted-and tried-to do this, but after a week of watching the news and listening to police scanners and hearing of all the horrors happening in this city I always end up back where I started, fighting to protect. Most of us end up in either a state of with perpetual anger and depression or just devoid of all emotion. Most abandon everything they love and ever cared for, sometimes in fear, more often because they are ashamed to be the way they are and don’t want anyone to see.
In 1992 president Clinton passed an act banning all “superhero” activity. It was probably the only thing that saved me from following in my father’s footsteps to the end. Some of the Guard were angry, but for most, the day that act was passed was the best day of their lives.